


Altered Metabolism

by SlothBaby (crimsonherbarium)



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Alien Biology, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Gender-Neutral Venom Symbiote (Marvel), Other, Post-Canon, Soft Venom Symbiote, Vomiting, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 10:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16890903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/SlothBaby
Summary: What starts as a casual night in turns south as Eddie realizes he has a lot to learn about how Venom processes toxins.





	Altered Metabolism

It was easier than expected to fall into old habits in the days following the battle with Drake and Riot.

Not even necessarily by choice, mind you, but because there hadn't been much else for Eddie to do. Sure, yeah, they'd saved the world. But that wasn't something that was being advertised. Collateral damage was a thing. He was still every bit as broke and unemployed as he had been on Monday. The whole hero thing wasn't exactly a paid gig.

So, over the next few days, with Venom still weak from the exposure to fire and being ripped apart from the safety of Eddie's body several times, Eddie just...went back to what he'd been doing before. Sat at the table in his kitchen and trawled the classifieds for a job that fit his skill set. Scraped together change to order cheap Chinese. Woke up and went to sleep wearing the same clothes. Showered when he remembered to. Even managed to get his shit together enough to sweep the floor one day, which he felt particularly pleased about.

As time passed, the memories of what had transpired felt less and less real. Clinging to the side of a rocket as it launched into the stratosphere? Fighting tooth and nail to tear some alien goo away from the slim body of a Silicon Valley executive? Creeping through a darkened lab, peering through smudged glass at the battered and broken bodies of people who had once been his friends?

If he hadn't lived it, he would never have believed a damn word of it. But the thin tendril of black that wrapped itself around Eddie's bicep as he rubbed at his temple said otherwise. The symbiote's touch was real, irrefutable proof that it had happened. All of it. Venom's solid, reassuring presence in Eddie's mind, even when they were just passively observing, was comforting. Eddie slid back into his old life with the symbiote wrapped around him like a well-worn hoodie.

All the same, he got sick of the monotonous drone of his days fading into each other. One night, with the muffled sound of the Bruins game on the TV in the background, he shut his computer and retrieved a dusty bottle of whiskey from the top of the fridge.

 **Everything okay, Eddie?** Venom's voice chimed in. It almost startled him. The symbiote had been quiet the last few days.

"Course. Why wouldn't it be?"

**Usually only drink liquor when you're upset.**

"In all fairness, we haven't had a lot to be happy about lately. But no, love, I'm not upset. Just nice to unwind sometimes." Eddie retrieved one of his mismatched glasses from the cabinet and poured a healthy measure of the amber liquid in. The sharp sting of alcohol wafted up toward his nose. "Besides," he said, making his way toward the couch and flopping down unceremoniously. "I'm not drinking alone, am I? Way less depressing with company."

**Happy to be with you too, Eddie.**

"That's the spirit." Eddie smiled and took a sip, mulling the alcohol over his tongue appreciatively. It was good whiskey—a gift, he couldn't remember who from anymore—and he'd been saving it for a while. It seemed like this was as good an occasion as any.

His glass emptied faster than he’d thought he was drinking, something he only realized when he lifted it to his lips and was met with nothing but fumes. He moved to stand, keeping his eyes trained on the game so he wouldn’t miss any of the action while he was refilling it.

 **Want help? Just ask.** A black tentacle shot out and retrieved the bottle, opening it and pouring a generous measure into Eddie’s glass.

“Thanks darling,” Eddie said, eyeing the amount of whiskey the symbiote had served him. “You trying to get me drunk?”

**Never been drunk. Could be fun?**

“You want it, you got it.” Eddie took a large swig. “Not like we have to be at work in the morning, anyhow.”

There was a comforting domesticity to it, having a drink together while watching a hockey game in his favorite pajama pants. The whiskey burned its way down Eddie’s throat and sat warm in his stomach, heating him from the inside. The alcohol relaxed him. He felt the tension of the past few weeks bleed out of his joints. It had been a while since he’d felt so content.

The symbiote seemed to share the same sentiment. They were much more _visible_ tonight than they usually were, little beads and tendrils of black welling up from Eddie’s skin and moving about lazily like a cat flicking its tail. Eddie absentmindedly held up his hand and slowly wiggled his fingers, watching the effect the motion had on the oily tar.

A low hum reverberated through Eddie’s skull. It was almost like…purring? Eddie made an incredulous face. It had been hard enough accepting that he was sharing the inside of his skull with a pile of sentient goo. Purring was a step too far.

“What’s going on with you?” he said, continuing the fluid motion of his fingers that had elicited the response in the first place.

Eddie got the mental impression of a shrug. **Feels nice. Like you, Eddie. Like being with you.**

“Mhm.” Eddie took another large gulp of whiskey. “Sounds to me like you’re just a lightweight.”

 **Am not. Take that back!** The symbiote’s voice thrummed with mock outrage.

“I dunno, man.” Eddie stretched out on the couch. “I haven’t been drunk since we got together. I don’t exactly have a baseline for how you handle your liquor. How do you even process it, anyway?”

**Not sure? Have to find out.**

“Fuck, fair enough.” Eddie drained his glass, turning his attention back to his hockey match.

The only thing that really marked the progression of the evening was the spacing of commercial breaks on the TV. Eddie stopped keeping track of how much he was drinking. Whenever he reached for the glass, it was full. The edges of his perception were dulled, the world pleasantly blurred with the amber glow of bourbon that washed over it. He was happy, melted into a warm pile of mixed man and symbiote on the couch.

His team scored—Eddie jumped to his feet, shouting indistinctly, and immediately lost his balance. He fell over sideways onto the coffee table, cursing under his breath as the glass he’d been drinking from was knocked to the ground and shattered. Syrupy whiskey sprayed across the floorboards.

He laid there for a moment, blinking skeptically up at the ceiling. Was he drunker than he’d thought? Taking rapid stock of the inside of his head, he decided that wasn’t the case. He was buzzed at best—he wouldn’t be riding his motorcycle in this state, but he definitely wasn’t stumbling drunk.

“What the hell?” he said, shoving himself into a sitting position. He tried to stand again and his perception of “up” shifted suddenly and violently, causing him to fall again in the opposite direction. He landed face-down on the couch. “Huh. Hey, Venom?”

**Mmm. Eddie.**

“Are…are you drunk?”

 **How know if drunk, Eddie?** The symbiote’s tendrils undulated and swayed, some oozing across the floor to soak up the whiskey that had been spilled there. Eddie hiccuped.

“Holy shit. You are, aren’t you?” Eddie laughed. “Told you you were a lightweight.”

 **Hungry!** The symbiote said gleefully, tendrils climbing upward to stroke Eddie’s cheek.

“Can’t get us food if you won’t let me walk, love.” Eddie flopped over on the couch, returning to the hockey match. “We’ll just have to wait for you to sober up.”

 **Do it myself,** the symbiote huffed. Oily black tentacles erupted from Eddie’s shoulder and shot toward the kitchen.

Eddie winced, hearing something shatter in the distance. “Hey! Be careful, would you?” He peered over the back of the couch to see a tentacle wrestling with the gas dial on the stove. “Whoah, whoah. No stove, okay? You’re just gonna burn the house down. With us inside.”

There was something sullen in the way the tentacle relinquished its grip on the knob. **Fine.** Eddie sank back down on the couch cushions. The fridge opened and closed, and the symbiote dumped a box of old lo mein noodles unceremoniously into his lap. **Food, Eddie! Eat.**

“You didn’t bring me anything to eat it _with,_ love.”

 **Did our best,** the symbiote sulked.

Eddie sighed. “Fine. But I’d like to state for the record that this is undignified.” He reached into the box and pulled some cold noodles out with his fingers, tipping his head back and dropping them into his mouth. Venom, for the moment, seemed to be satisfied. Eddie worked his way through the leftover takeout slowly, still watching the game out of one eye.

 **Eddie,** the symbiote said urgently a few minutes later as Eddie neared the bottom of the takeout box. **Poison, Eddie!**

“Poison?” Eddie said through his mouthful of half-chewed noodles. “What do you mean, poison? Did you bring me spoiled food?”

 **No, Eddie!** The symbiote’s tendrils swayed uneasily. **Poison!** They flicked in the direction of the whiskey bottle.

Eddie snorted. “Look, it may not be good for me, but I wouldn’t call it poison. Not like I drank enough to make myself sick, anyway. Relax, livers fix themselves. Might take a couple days, but—”

 **Poison!** The symbiote’s voice thundered in Eddie’s head. Eddie didn’t have a choice—he found himself lurching rapidly and clumsily toward the bathroom. Before he could process what was happening, he was on his knees in front of the toilet.

“Oh god, please don’t—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the muscles in his abdomen spasmed violently in sequence and he was violently puking up half-digested noodles and scotch. The waves kept coming—Eddie clung desperately to the side of the toilet, gasping for air when he could, feeling the burn of acid in the back of his throat, hating the sensation of being punched in the stomach from the inside. When there was nothing left to come up, he dry-heaved several times, spitting thick ribbons of bile and saliva into the water. He pawed halfheartedly at the handle until it finally flushed and fell backward on his ass, collapsing against the wall. He fought to regain control of his breathing, burying his face in his hands.

 **…Okay, Eddie?** the symbiote asked sheepishly.

“I…really wish you hadn’t made me do that,” Eddie groaned.

**Sorry. We panicked.**

“Alcohol bad. Noted.” Eddie took a shaking breath, closing his eyes. “Looks like we still have a lot to learn about each other.”

 **Yes.** The symbiote’s tendrils wrapped around Eddie’s arms and squeezed; a gesture of comfort.

Eddie sighed. “Where do you want to start?”


End file.
